Taming Romeo by Rachelle Ayala

I yawn. “My chest is sore from being rescued and my throat’s killing me.”
    Choco takes a water bottle out of her purse. “Here, are you going to take the tablet?”
    “Not right now. I want to read the package insert. I have seventy-two hours.”
    “Yeah, but you’re already at twenty-four hours. Am I right?” She sets the water bottle on my nightstand and picks up a fitness magazine I have lying around.
    I heave a deep sigh. “Can you imagine twenty-four hours ago I had the night to last a lifetime. And now, I’m paying for it.”
    “He was that good?” Her eyes gleam with renewed interest.
    “Well practiced and skillful, yes.” I lie down and hug my pillow. “He acted like he was in love with me, and I went along willingly. It was everything I dreamed of and more.”
    “That good and you don’t want a repeat performance?”
    I close my eyes, shaking my head. “I got too emotional. I started crying after the first time. It was so overwhelming, like he knew me better than I knew myself and then it hit me. I walked away from him five years ago.”
    “You did it for a good reason. You wanted to be a doctor.”
    A lump rises in my throat. “But now, I’m not going to be a doctor. I’m a failure.”
    “You’re not. Don’t listen to what Eric says.”
    “You think he broke up with me because I was failing anatomy?”
    Choco flips the bedcovers aside and grabs a pillow. “If that’s the reason, I say good riddance.”
    “I mean, both his parents are surgeons at Mass General. His mother has an endowed chair in orthopedic research. His dad is department chair in cardio-thoracic surgery. He doesn’t want to marry a failure. Makes sense.”
    “Evie.” Choco clamps my arm. “Stop analyzing this. He refused to tell you the reason, didn’t he? All he said was, ‘I can’t do this anymore. Let’s cool it for a bit.’ Nothing about you failing anatomy.”
    “He doesn’t return my texts.”
    “You shouldn’t text him.” Choco’s voice is soft, her eyes half closed.
    I reach over and turn off the light. “Should I text Romeo?”
    “Yeah, somehow I don’t think Romeo’s a real ass. He might play one on TV, but…”
    I’m bone tired and when she drifts off, I tuck myself into my bed and struggle to stay awake. Romeo’s not a real ass. He just plays one on TV. No, no. He is real. He treated me like a booty call. He walked out on me. Didn’t even offer me a ride. And it hurt. I want to be cherished and loved. Is that too much to ask?
    # # #
    Middle of the week is always busy, what with the Sunshine Retirement Center’s hump day outing and the lunch special we run—two eat for the price of one.
    Kuya Carlos’ voice is hoarse. “We’re out of lechón kawali. Danny’s run to the store. Won’t be ready until dinner.”
    “But, Mr. Dee waited all week for lechón . Can’t we scrounge up something?” I scribble on my pad and shove it in his face. “Please?”
    “Choco had a big order come through. Sorry.”
    “Ah… ask her if she can change one of them.” I yank the order slip. “How about some chicken katsu instead?”
    “Chicken katsu . Chicken katsu . Are you a lunatic?” He throws the order slip at me. “That is not a substitute any self-respecting Pinoy chef from CCA-Manila would approve of. Sorry.”
    I fiddle through the rest of the orders. Table of four. Lechón kawali (pork), bistek tagalog (beef), bangus sisig (fish), crispy dinuguan (blood stew with crispy pork cubes). Meat eaters. Next. Table for two. Diet sodas. Lechón kawali and mango tofu salad—no pork, no shrimp. Ah… a meat eater and a vegetarian. Maybe they’ll take kangkong (water spinach) tofu, hold the chorizo (pork sausage) bits.
    “How about this one?” I point at the slip.
    “Genie’s table. You deal with it.”
    I note the location. Kare-kare room table fifteen. They have to understand. Mr. Dee’s an old man. He gets a plate of lechón kawali every week. It’s the highlight of his existence. I